


Nightmare

by Phinmeister



Series: Adam and Rick [5]
Category: Original Work
Genre: I hope that’s not an often used tag for something else, M/M, Nightmares, Original Fiction, PTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-27 23:02:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16711693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phinmeister/pseuds/Phinmeister
Summary: Rick becomes lost in a world of bad memories.





	Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at the start of Nanowrimo and honestly haven’t made much progress since so here’s a little thing for your Thanksgiving pleasure

 

All the universe was pitch black, and then sudden light. Blurry, not entirely there, out of focus, but a concept nonetheless. Movement, speech, thoughts spoken out loud. Love, anger, fear, and apathy. 

He dropped right into a scene, but instantly knew everything that was going on. None of it was pleasant. All of it was just plain horrible. He was stuck. 

Adam. Where was Adam? He was usually here when stuff like this happened - well, when anything at all, for the most part, happened, he was there by his side. Where was he now? Gone?

Gone. That word had so many meanings, none of them particularly positive. Gone had a sense of permanence that stabbed him in the gut. Gone was a separation, likely one without reunification. Gone meant no more hellos or even goodbyes. 

But how was he gone? Gone to the store? Gone from his life? Gone from the world itself?

Maybe he was on a spaceship. Ha. He wanted to die. He didn’t want to be here, he wanted to be elsewhere, in a comfortable and cozy and safe place where he knew where Adam was. Not whatever this void was. 

Gone. He knew what had happened. Gone meant forever. Gone was the aftermath of defeat. Adam, and him, had lost. 

Lost what?

He knew what it was. They were connected, so he knew what had happened to him, and it wasn’t pretty. None of life was pretty anymore, because he knew. 

Torture. Always following him around, stabbing him in the back of his mind, jolting him out of silence when he least expected it, reminding himself of its existence at all times. 

Torture. Adam and him. They’d both gone through it. What had happened now? Adam used to be safe, but that was another life. 

Where was he?

Life. Adam didn’t have it. _He_ did, or did he? Maybe they were both in hell, or purgatory. Certainly not heaven. Heaven would mean Adam was there. He supposed it was hell, because Adam, well. 

Death. He’d have to come to terms with it, but when? And how? And why? He thought he knew that last one, but perhaps not. It was all twisted. 

He had thought that they had fought off the monsters. Them. The bad guys. He didn’t like thinking about them, and yet his brain persisted, caught in a loop. White and sterile environment. Miles of long, converging hallways. People that didn’t care. Guards. Rooms. Chairs. Knives. Blood. Adam. 

What really had happened? He thought one thing was reality, and then it hit him that it wasn’t, and then it was, and wasn’t again. Twisting. Converging, like the hallways, and diverging. Dizzy. 

Panic. Where? When? How? Who? Why? Adam. Gone. Gone. Gone. Torture. Life. Death. Miles. Adam. Where was he? When was this? How did he get here? Who was he anymore? Why was he here? Where was Adam? What had happened to Adam? How did Adam _die?_

Dizzy. White and black, flashing, no colors, maybe he had gone partially blind in some way. Miles of hallways. Gonna get him. Already got Adam. The man talking to him. 

Who’s Adam? Why did you hurt Adam? Do you know where Adam is now? What happened? Tell me. Tell me. Who’s Adam? Did you make him up? I don’t know an Adam. Oh, that Adam. He’s broken and bleeding and you did this to him by being a stupid little boy. Hammer it into your overly thick skull that you’re responsible if he dies. 

Maybe he did. He seemed to remember otherwise. But what was true? What was a lie? He really was stupid, and didn’t know anything, and crazy. 

Adam. Warmth. Comfort. Gone. 

Moved on. In a different place. Happier. Happier without you. Happier because you’re gone. 

He did this. It was his fault all along, the man was right. He didn’t know how, but he knew. 

Shaking. Hands, tremors. Legs, stiff. Eyes, blinking rapidly. Breath, short and not sweet. Heart, pounding. Oxygen, very little. 

Maybe he would die and meet Adam there. But did Adam want him anymore? He didn’t know. 

Broken. Black and white. Yes or no. Stop or go. What did he know?

Nothing. Nothingness. The void. Death. 

Spinning. Losing consciousness. Gaining something. 

 

——-

 

He woke up and blinked, once and twice and thrice. Tried to breathe. Horrible feeling in his stomach. 

His name was Rick Young and he was 25 and this was the second time it had happened. He’d woken Adam up the first time and they’d had a good chat, but at least he could describe that one and how it had affected him. 

What was _that?_

Adam was there, he really was there. Facing him, eyelids shut, breathing, in and out, soundly. How could he wake him up from that utterly perfect state of being?

Breathing. At least that was settled. It was all fake. 

Weird. 

Adam. Yesterday they had gone shopping. It was nearing winter and he had bought a new jacket and Adam had smirked and said he looked great, and he wasn’t sure what to make of that. 

Adam had shoved a Santa hat on his head even though it was November. He had laughed, and his eyes crinkled up and he stared at him with complete glee and it truly was like it was Christmas already. 

He’d whistled Sleigh Ride after that, and it took him a minute to recognize what tune it was, but then he’d rolled his eyes and said, “Adam, really, it’s in like a month,” and Adam had replied, “Never too early,” and he had responded with “What about Thanksgiving?” because that was coming up closer than he could ever remember, and Adam just said, “There aren’t any Thanksgiving songs.”

He had looked cheery, and humored, like there was an inside joke going on solely in his brain and it was just unbelievably funny. Maybe it was the Christmas spirit. 

 

He tapped Adam on the shoulder and murmured his name. His mouth was dry, and he could barely talk. 

Adam opened his eyes and hummed inquisitively. 

“Want to talk about Christmas?” he almost asked. But he didn’t. 

“Can you talk to me?” he whispered. 

“Hmm,” said Adam. “About what?” He sounded like his throat was sore. Maybe they both had dry mouths. 

“I had a... really weird dream. And really awful.”

“Was it a nightmare?” He shifted over and reached out to rub his hair with his fingertips. He closed his eyes; pleasure shot down his scalp. 

“Yeah, I guess. It was like I was going in and out of existence.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, and you were dead.”

Adam frowned. “That doesn’t sound fun.” He took his arm away and stroked his cheek. 

Mmmmm.

Arm went away. Sad. 

“No, it wasn’t. It was like - ” He swallowed, because a bolt of lightning fear had just struck his spine and he felt dizzy again. “The, the thing you went through happened, but they didn’t let you go. And you were... um, gone.”

Adam just blinked. One, two, three times. “Oh,” he said. 

“And I felt like it was my fault. Like that guy told me.”

“No it isn’t. It never was.” Adam frowned. “Don’t think about that, it’ll never, ever be your fault.”

“You sure?”

“A hundred percent sure. You couldn’t do anything. And look - ” He gave a faint swooping motion with his arm, directing it at himself. “I’m alive.”

He smiled. “You sure are.”

“What am I like dead? Did I come back as a ghost?”

He couldn’t tell whether that upset him more or made him close to laughing. He went with the latter, and his smile grew. “No. That was the point. You were gone.”

“Not back to haunt you? What a shame.”

“I always knew you would haunt me for the rest of my life.” He shifted down in the bed and pulled the covers up to his chin. “I don’t want to go back to sleep.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t want to go back into that dream.”

He looked over at Adam, who had a sympathetic expression on his face. “We can stay up if you want.”

“And do what?”

“I don’t know. Talk.”

“About Christmas?”

It was Adam’s turn to smile. “Uh, yes.”

“What are you gonna get me?”

“Coal.”

“You would. I’m getting you... something lesser than that.”

“Coal is the stereotypical bad present, though.”

“I’m getting you a piece of driftwood.”

“Cool, l’ll turn it into an arts and crafts project.”

Of course Adam would. 

“How would you even do that?” he asked. 

Adam scrunched his brow. “Hmm, don’t know. Somehow.”

“What would you make?”

“A sculpture of your face.”

Oh. “Really?”

“Yep. Most beautiful thing I can think of.”

He either pretended to blush or actually did. “Oh, stop it, you.”

“It’s the truth.”

“No, that’s you.”

“Nah.”

“It’s you!” He reached out his hand and tapped him on the nose. “Vous.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Doesn’t matter, mon amour.”

“Okay, I’m going back to sleep.” Adam rolled over and faced his back to him. His hair looked particularly soft. “Nighty night.”

“Night.” He was still worried his dream would come back, but that had helped immensely, so maybe it wouldn’t. 

Maybe he would dream of him and Adam out on a beautiful sandy beach making sweet love. He didn’t know. Life was unpredictable, and minds especially so. 

He closed his eyes and breathed. Tried to make it deeper this time, and it actually seemed to help. Didn’t feel as queasy as before. Adam was magic. 

Or was it something inside himself? He didn’t know. Some things it was okay not to know. 


End file.
